Milestones
by Feistee
Summary: Donna and Harvey, over the years. Tension, drama, angst abounds.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

His first week at the DA's office is painfully mundane. Cameron is dealing with the closing days of a high profile murder trial, and has little time to pay attention to a green ADA. It is irksome, to say the least. Cameron's mentorship is, after all, the only reason Harvey agreed to this stint as a prosecutor, and he expected to hit the ground running, not filling out subpoenas and other mind-numbing paperwork that could be relegated to a legal assistant.

A reprieve comes at the end of the week when the other ADAs decide to take Harvey out for welcome drinks, and he finds himself an eager participant in the festivities. New York is a long way from Cambridge.

They head to a low-key but high end bar, and the bartenders treat his co-workers with bright familiarity. He knows immediately stands out in the sea of familiar faces.

"Who's your friend, Greg?" says the pretty waitress sets their round of beers in front of them.

"This," says Greg, patting Harvey on the back, "is Mr. Harvey Specter. Newest addition to the team."

Harvey doesn't take taking an immediate liking to everyone he meets, but he finds himself strangely appreciative of Greg Wilkins' light, easy sense of humor. It is a welcome contrast from the emotionally debilitating and depressing casework that often weighs on the teams' minds.

"Oh? Locking up all the bad guys, Harvey?" she asks.

"That's the plan," he winks, and is rewarded with a flirtatious grin. He could get used to this place.

Two rounds later, Harvey is being regaled with stories of Cameron Dennis' numerous exploits from some of the senior attorneys. He loosens the tie around his neck, attention waning. Cameron's reputation precedes him, but he already knows everything there is to know about the man.

Harvey glances across the bar, stalling as he catches a flash of color, red. The woman's back is against the bar as she speaks animatedly to a brunette companion, all hands and theatrics. His eyes travel down her form, from the dip of her blouse, to the gentle curve of her hip, and the length of her long legs. It is almost eerie when her gaze knowingly locks with his and she narrows her eyes, though the smile does not leave her lips. His eyebrows rise slightly, testing the potential response, but she has already turned to face the bar.

As if some greater power is watching, the brunette decides to duck out for a visit to the ladies room, and never one to waste an opportunity, Harvey rises.

"You lawyers seem to multiply every other week. Like rabbits," she says pre-emptively without meeting his gaze.

"You a regular here?" he asks, motioning for two more of the woman's now-empty martini glass.

"You could say that," she concedes, taking a sip of the drink rather demurely.

Harvey crosses his arms across his chest and shoot her a well-practiced smile. "And what _should_ I say?"

"I only come here when my coworkers drag me here," she whispers conspiratorially. "Can't stand the place, really. Too many of those suit-types, you know?"

"I hadn't noticed," he starts, playing along with the game.

"And I don't just mean the attorneys. Wall Street is right around the corner after all. All the coiffed hair, the underlying scent of Acqua Di Gio that just permeates the air like the furniture was soaked in it," she wrinkles her nose with distaste. "It just rubs me the wrong way."

"Good thing I'm more of a Boss man."

Her friend is approaching, motioning that she is about to leave, and Harvey knows the moment is over.

She throws her martini back with unabashed gusto. "Thanks for the drink."

"My pleasure," he replies.

"And I'll see you on Monday, Harvey," she winks, turning on her heel and heading for a door without missing a step.

He blinks, understandably puzzled. Greg sidles beside him, laughing without an ounce restraint.

"Good try, man," he says, the hints of the Brooklyn accent lining his tone have become more pronounced with alcohol.

"Why didn't I see her at the office?" he asks, his mood considerably darker as he forgoes the martini for another Heineken.

"You probably didn't pay much attention to the west wing. Special victims. Donna is Lisa Pereira's secretary," he explains, though his face his still awash in amusement.

Pereira, as Harvey learns the following week, is a bigwig within the bounds of her own unit, but the rumor mill has been churning stories that a state judge nomination is heading her way. Harvey could not care less about Pereira's potential career path, but instead finds himself picking out the pieces of the story that have to do with her secretary.

_Best legal secretary in the office. Pereira's trying to convince her to move upstate when she leaves. Cameron himself is looking to scoop her up._

The idleness of the previous week comes to a sudden end when Cameron slams him with his first case, and is all too clear in that he will not offer Harvey any help. He's to lead the deposition in a sexual assault case, and unfortunately, the defendant is a police officer. On the third late night in a row, bleary eyed, but unwilling to leave, he decides to make a stop in the break room in hopes of finding a cup of coffee.

He has poured the grounds and water into the absolutely ancient machine, but it doesn't seem to want to dispense any liquid. He stares at it, jaw clenched, more furious than anyone should be at an inanimate object.

"Ah, the life of a public servant. Isn't exactly as glamorous as they make it out to be, is it?"

Donna certainly does not look as if they've worked a 15 hour day. She is as bright and polished as she is every morning when he strolls past her cubicle, and he resents her for it.

"Public service. Purgatory. Tomato, to-mah-to," he drawls wearily.

"Here," she says. She grabs a plastic fork, finds some strange orifice on the device and prods it. Like clockwork, the warm red light turns on and coffee begins flowing into the pot.

"You're a godsend," he breathes as he takes long swig of the bitter liquid.

"And _you're_ making me blush," she whispers, helping herself to a cup. "So, Cameron got you burning the midnight oil?"

"Endless reports to prepare," he replies. "Why are you here?"

She shrugs as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "Lisa needed some paperwork while she's in Michigan for a conference. Had to finish it before tomorrow."

"Above and beyond the call of the typical legal secretary, no?"

She laughs humorlessly. "People have used a lot of words to describe me. And typical is not one of them."

He can believe that.

"You really enjoyed making a fool of me on Friday," he remarks offhandedly as he follows her out of the room.

"Sure did."

He's sure it's the sleep deprivation, but he finds himself chuckling despite himself. They stroll through the bullpen together and they come upon his desk first.

"I didn't know Manhattan was prone to hurricanes," she says, gesturing to the mess of files and paperwork on her table with distaste.

"I know where everything is," he assures her.

She arches a dubious brow and glances back to her desk. Then she decidedly sits in his chair and begins flicking through the case reports he's been combing to find any other signs of the defendant's misgivings.

"How far back do these go?"

"Two years," he replies, unsure of where she's going with this.

She shakes her head, disapproving. "You should get more than that. He's a lieutenant, he's been around the block a few times," she reminds him, having already scanned the briefs.

"This is all we have on hand."

"You have to go directly to the precinct to get more."

"But the-"

"Go to Judge Delancy for the court order and drop Cameron's name," she interjects, placing the folders she's perused in a series of stacks on the far side of the desk. "That will expedite the request."

After mere moments, she's organized the folders by relevance and date, and just like that she stands.

"Hey!" he protests, thumbing through the files to make sure she hasn't misplaced anything. "I think I can handle this myself."

_I'm a Harvard educated lawyer and you're a legal secretary,_ are the words he doesn't say, but she hears them loud and clear.

"Fine." She holds her hands up, yielding. "Good night, and good luck."

Then she's gone, and he is left alone to work in miserable solitude. The next day, after making sure she is nowhere in sight, he calls Judge Delancy and is granted the court order with almost no difficulty, just as she promised. Later, he sees her hunched over her desk, writing furiously on a legal pad.

"What's this?" Donna enquires, motioning to the cup of takeaway coffee he has placed in from of her.

"The closest thing you're going to get to an apology?" he tries, sincerely hoping she won't make him go there.

"I think you can get closer." She lifts the cup and puts it aside, returning to her work.

He drapes his forearms over the cubicle wall and leans against them. "Sorry," he mutters, and it is nearly inaudible.

She must be in a forgiving mood because despite the half-hearted admission, she swivels in her chair, coffee in hand, hint of a smile on her lips. He knows he is dismissed.

The deposition goes swimmingly, and the performances he gets from the witnesses seems to impress Cameron. The case never moves to trial when the defendant confesses, cutting a plea bargain. It's his first real victory, and he knows it will not be the last.

Three more times over the next two months, he finds his evening work schedule overlapping with Donna's. Each time, unprovoked, she points out something procedural that he has missed, or gives him a pointer on who to ask for what. Never does she sit with him for more than 20 minutes at a time, but her intervention has saved him hours, if not days of work. Never again does he question her knowledge or judgment.

Despite the strides he has been making, for every case he seems to knock down, two more sprout up in its place.

When he makes this remark to Donna on an evening in the break room, she shakes her head with sympathy. "It's like a goddamn hydra, isn't it?"

"Guess that makes me Hercules," he smirks.

"I walked into that one," she admits.

"How long have you worked here?" he finally thinks to ask her as he hands her a cup of the god awful ADA coffee.

"Two years," she responds, giving the mug the obligatory scowl that she always seems to get upon first sip. "Straight after getting my Masters at NYU."

Then, a more candid question. "Why do you work so hard for her?"

"She's a good woman, and she's treated me well," Donna explains, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

To this, Harvey can find no argument. Instead, he dumps his coffee out into the sink. "How about a run to the diner down the street. My treat."

She hesitates. "I don't know…"

Despite her apparent fervor to make conversation in the confines of the office, she seems hesitant to take it outside. Why exactly, he's not sure, he's sure his made up for his embarrassing performance at the bar. It doesn't matter anyway. He knows he can break her.

"You're going to regret it when I come back with a steaming cup of heaven and you're drinking that East River sludge," he says easily, hands in pockets as he turns for the door. "Oh, and pie."

She falls into place beside him further down the hall and he shoots her a grin. "Good choice."

"I always make the right choice," she promises him.

* * *

**To be continued, if there's interest..**


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

It's official now. Pereira's nomination. The Special Victim's bureau is abuzz with the exciting news, but all he can think about is the red-headed secretary that will now sit in front of an empty office. They anticipate Pereira's departure in the coming weeks, after she has tied up as many loose ends as she can.

"Looks like Cameron's going to get her. She's the hardest working help in the office and," Greg says in a low voice over a Friday night beer, "the man can't exactly be _opposed_ to spending the late nights with her. I mean, those legs go on forever…"

Harvey nods curtly, annoyed, though he is not sure why.

"Hey, Greg," says that familiar pretty waitress as she takes away their empty glasses. "Harvey."

He gives her a smile and a nod. "Always stuck with the Friday night haul?"

"Yeah. But thankfully my shift's ending in 20 mins," she replies, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

He takes the hint and buys her drinks when she gets off work. Later that night when they are lying side by side in his bed, he wonders, not for the first time, if tomorrow will be the last day he sees Donna Paulsen.

She has been conspicuously absent from the office in the evenings, probably because Pereira's caseload is finally tapering off before her departure. He tells himself it doesn't really put a hamper in his work, that his knowledge of the inner workings of the DA bureaucracy has increased tenfold and he doesn't need her. But really, her absence is weighing on his mind more often than not.

He's started to build a reputation as the go-to ADA for the niche cases where his hard-handed, take-no-prisoners approach has gotten results. Even Jessica calls to congratulate him for a job well done, but the praise does not settle the inexplicable uneasiness that has settled in his stomach after Pereira's nomination announcement.

One evening, he spies Donna down the alley of the bullpen and gets up to join her. She is packing her desk up into boxes, extremely particular about what goes where. Over the months, he's learned about idiosyncrasies in the way she operates, like her fondness for colored sticky notes, and her unwavering upkeep of audit logs for files she references in reports. Her meticulous behavior is admirable, and another reason she is so good at her job.

"Leaving on a jet plane?" he asks, trying to appear nonchalant.

As usual, seemingly omniscient, she doesn't need to turn to know it's him. "Yes, making the perilous journey down the hall. Don't know when I'll be back again," she adds as an afterthought.

"Cameron," Harvey realizes, with some relief. "That's exciting."

"The raise is exciting, I suppose," she says evasively, crouching to grab another box from the floor. "And I guess his office has a window."

"He's a good man, too," he declares, deciding to play devil's advocate.

"Maybe it's about time you take off those rose-colored glasses," she says, her voice low.

"What?" he questions.

"Never mind," she mutters with a shake of her head.

She grabs the closest box and starts down the aisle. He doesn't move.

"Thanks for offering to help, Harvey, but I can handle it."

She taps her foot against the ground for a moment in exasperated disbelief until he finally comes to her and grabs the box handles. Their fingers brush and his confidence is bolstered.

"Come work with me."

"Did you already hit up happy hour?" Donna laughs in disbelief.

"I'm serious," and his face lets her know that he is. "I won't get you all the time, he would never allow that."

"You're barely finished your first 10 months here as an ADA, and I'm getting a chance to work for the _DA_," she points out as she tugs at the box. "Why would I ever agree to this? It's absurd."

"You, and everybody else here knows what I have my sights set on." His grip doesn't give. "The top. And I mean the very top. I'm a big fish and-"

"This is a little pond?" she finishes, unconvinced.

"I know you've heard the higher ups, including Lisa and Cameron talking about my prospects. I was third in my class at Harvard. I'm sitting first chair in trial next month – almost unheard of for such a new recruit, and I've done nearly all the legwork for what is going to be a very highly publicized case. Cameron Dennis, the New York district attorney with the best conviction rate in over half a century trusted _me_ enough to head up the case," he argues. "Need my height, weight and senior year batting average, too?"

Her arms drop to her side. She studies him, brows furrowed, gaze pensive.

"Plus, I don't think you like him very much."

"Maybe I don't like _you_ very much," she challenges.

He smiles, resolve unshaken. "You're a big fish too, Donna, and you know it."

"How the hell do you know Cameron will let you do this?"

"Let me take care of Cameron," he replies, taking the box and starting towards her new desk. "And for the record, 6' 1", 170, 0.400 flat."

"Please," she scoffs, "don't flatter yourself. Six feet, tops."

However, convincing Cameron takes a little more elbow grease than he anticipates.

"You can't be serious, Harvey. We're hurting for resources already. This isn't the private sector, we can't justify hiring another secretary, because there is no way Donna will have enough time to finish your work and mine," he says without looking up from his paperwork.

"My utility will increase with her help. I can take on a bigger caseload, and that means a better record for this office. It's an investment, not a black hole," Harvey assures him. "You'll see the returns soon, I promise."

"You sound like my portfolio manager. And he's a goddamn liar."

"I'm not lying."

Cameron looks up at him, examining him properly for the first time. "Take Allison. Greenman is going on extended leave next week, she'll be shifting her services around the office as needed."

He shakes his head. "I want Donna."

"Harvey," he starts, and his tone is so patronizing that Harvey bristles. "Jessica assured me that you are the best she's ever seen…and you're certainly living up to the expectations that she set for you, but I'm not sure you're doing this for-"

"Give me until the course of the Davis trial. I'll prove it to you," he interjects, having heard enough. "I want Donna because she's the best, and I don't settle for anything but."

Cameron studies him. After what seems like an eternity, he nods in acquiescence, motioning towards the door with a wave of his hand. Harvey leaves with a grin plastered on his face.

That night, he takes Donna to a small but bustling wine bar down the street.

"To our partnership," he toasts, raising the glass of merlot.

"I bet we'll be lucky if it lasts through the month," she murmurs as she takes a sip.

Month one blurs into month two effortlessly but the trial preparation is still happening in full force. Davis' defense successfully had the trial delayed in light of new evidence. A convenient witness has come out of the woodwork to testify that Davis was actually at a dive bar in Queens and not in the house of the little girl he murdered. Harvey knows it's bullshit.

In addition to the Davis trial, he's been juggling a dozen others cases and Donna commitment rate has slowly been rising above the initial agreement. But Cameron hasn't objected and Harvey knows why. He's handling a larger caseload than any of the other ADAs, and more often than not, he wins before the word _trial_ is even uttered.

"Judge Elmer called, he needs you to swing by the courthouse tomorrow morning for a last minute meeting with defense counsel," Donna says, handing him a small stack of folders.

He nods, flicking through them quickly. "If they try to pull some stunt again…"

"He assured me that they are not." She stands to shrug on her jacket.

The office is sparse now, and he should also be leaving. He needs to be up early for the pre-trial meeting. There's nothing else to be done. He continues to stand over her desk, though he is not sure why.

"Go home, Harvey," she tells him gently.

At his apparent hesitation, she bids him to follow her. She prepares him a cup of that terrible coffee, and it's odd to see her do so in the wool coat. He is reminded that she should be going home, she's done too much over the last few weeks. He's about to open her mouth to tell her just that when she begins.

"Are you nervous?"

"Of course not," he scoffs.

"Then what's up?"

She waits patiently. It's remarkable, the way this woman can simply _will_ a confession out of him with just her steady gaze. In fact, it sort of terrifies him.

"I have confidence in my trial abilities," he states, leaning against the small table. "But what if it's not enough? I mean, even if Cameron and I execute everything perfectly, like clockwork, there's still a chance this guy could get off. The jury adds too many variables to predict the outcome. And after what he did…"

"Ah," she nods. "So you are nervous."

He sighs.

"Lisa has been practicing for 20 years and still says she gets pre-trial jitters."

"And?"

"She had her ways of dealing with it," she shrugs. Donna steps towards him, placing a steady palm on his forearm, her skin warm through his shirt. "The point it, you've done everything you can for now. But you need your rest if you're going to send it home tomorrow. You'll get him."

His gaze meets hers, and he thinks he believes her. She exhales lightly, the air comes to tickle the skin on his neck and only then does he realize how close they are standing.

She pulls away suddenly and turns her back to him. She begins shuffling through the utensil drawer for a moment while his confusion mounts. Then she turns slowly with a playful smile on her face and he spies a flash of silver in her hand. A can opener. "But before you go home, you have _got_ to see this."

Two weeks later, they go out on their first victory dinner. The first of many, he tells himself.

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

"Guess who just got reservations to The Drake," Harvey asks, all too pleased with himself.

Donna rolls her eyes, her lips twitching with amusement. "I take it the deposition went well?"

"As always," he confirms with a nod. "Tonight at 7:30?"

She turns back to her computer and starts typing. "I can't."

"You couldn't shut up about this place in October when it was impossible to get a table," he points out.

"Well, all the appeal is gone now that they're letting just _anybody_ in," she replies breezily, motioning toward him with a wave of her hand. She's being evasive.

"Fine, your loss," he concedes with his lips pressed into a thin line.

He runs out the rest of the day easily and uninterrupted in his cubicle, and when the clock hits 7, he gets up to leave. Unfortunately, the night a bit more anticlimactic than he anticipated when he finds himself at a bar in Chelsea with Greg, not the swanky midtown restaurant he had been looking forward to. He has no issues with his coworker, but he was hoping for a higher caliber of conversation than complaining about the doldrums of work.

If only to break up the monotony, Greg tells Harvey to make a move on a petite brunette, but he brushes him off and continues to nurse his beer. The other man shoots him a knowing look, which he is not sure he likes.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replies.

Harvey sighs and stands, miffed. He makes his way across the room to the woman. He's rewarded with her number, and a promise to meet him for drinks next weekend. He doesn't know if he will keep up his end of the bargain.

When they leave some time later, Harvey decides to make a stop in Chelsea Market. He picks couple things up for a specialty bakery and he's rounding the corner to exit onto the street when he almost runs headlong into a tall man.

"Sorry…," his apology trails off.

Donna.

She's dressed casually, jeans, sweater, hair swept up in a ponytail, but looking every bit as alluring as she is in the office. He has to tear his eyes away from the hand she is holding.

The smile that's on her face wavers as she meets Harvey's gaze. "Oh, hello," she says, uncharacteristically terse, formal.

"Hey," he replies, the words echoing in his ears hollowly.

Her companion's gaze flits between the two of them until Donna finally comes to her senses. "Jack, this is Harvey. We work together."

"With Cameron, that slave driver?" Jack asks with a laugh. "I keep telling Donna he's overworking her, and one of these days I'm going to tell him myself."

"He's got a reputation for that kind of thing," Harvey fibs easily.

Donna looks extremely uncomfortable despite the genial expression on her face. "Jack and Cameron's nephew did their residency together at Mount Sinai," she explains quickly.

Harvey nods in acknowledgement and decides it's time to make an exit. "It was nice to meet you Jack," he says, holding out his hand.

The other man shakes it amiably. Donna exhales, a practiced smile on her face. "See you on Monday," she says.

They don't talk about their encounter, though something has shifted between them. Their conversations are clipped, the smiles are less frequent, and he hates whatever unease has decided to rest itself between them.

Harvey realizes that there is a line. The banter, the late nights and dinners, they're all fine, acceptable, but they've always been in the construct of the workplace. He doesn't _really_ know her, as evidenced by the fact he had no idea she was seeing anybody.

He decides he's ok with it. But it is not lost on him that Jack thinks it is Cameron, not Harvey, who has been keeping Donna late hours. She's kept the extent of their working relationship from her boyfriend, and the alpha male within him swells with pride.

Fortunately, time seems to ease the haze of awkwardness in their relationship. They fall back into familiar patterns. Harvey wins, and she always has his back, and things feel right again.

She doesn't even complain too much when he asks her to meet him with some paperwork on the other side of the city. She greets him in front of the 13th precinct office and hands him a court order, fresh from Judge Connelly's desk. The air is chilly and damp, as winter seems adamant about sticking around through April. He turns around, looking forward to the warmth that the station will provide.

"You're welcome," she grumbles, unfurling her umbrella and turning to hail a cab.

He smiles to himself, about to call out his thanks when he hears his name.

"Harvey Specter?"

He takes a step back down to see a tall, dark man. Donna's interest has also peaked and she waits, stuffing her free hand into her trench coat pocket.

"I'm Cliff's brother."

Donna straightens up beside him, suddenly alert, and he inhales sharply.

"Harvey-" She warns, but it's too late.

The man's fist cracks against Harvey's temple with such immense force that he sees stars. He reaches out blindly to brace for the fall, but Donna has come beneath his arm to support him. He idly thinks how impressive her quick reaction is when she is dressed in heels.

"He didn't do anything!" the man screams, approaching again.

Harvey stiffens in anticipation of another blow, trying to push Donna behind, but a police officer has heard the commotion and holds the man back. A small crowd has formed, and the officer escorts Harvey into the station. After giving a rather muddled statement, he leaves, fuming.

"We should take you to the doctor," Donna begins, starting to pull him towards the street for a cab.

"My apartment is down the street," he insists, extricating himself from her arm.

She mutters something about his pigheadedness, but his mind is too disarrayed to make anything of it. Despite her protests, she follows. He nearly misses his building as they cross 7th avenue, but he gestures to it and she guides him in past the doorman. Upstairs, he discards his coat on the floor and collapses on the couch, overwhelmed with embarrassment and anger.

"I'm going to nail that bastard to the wall," he says, seething.

"I still think you should see someone," she calls from the kitchen. "That was a hell of a right hook."

"I'm fine," he replies, pressing his fingers to his forehead to test the swelling that is already becoming apparent.

In a fit of exasperation, he unbuttons the top of his shirt and loops his tie over his head, discarding it on the coffee table.

She returns with a bag of frozen berries and a glass of water and sits beside him. "You look like crap," she states as she brings the bag to his forehead.

He hisses as it makes contact with the tender flesh.

"Nice place you have here," Donna says, if only to fill the silence with something.

Her eyes travel over the shelf that holds his record collection and the vintage record player that is beside it. She whistles appreciatively.

"I'm moving next month."

"Let me guess...upgrading?"

He nods.

While she is preoccupied, he finally looks at her, flushed, probably from coming in from the chill. Her hair is damp and her scarf is lopsided, jostled by all the activity. She's usually so put together that he appreciates the rare opportunity to see her like this. His fingers twitch, itching to adjust the scarf, but his wandering thoughts are interrupted when she removes the frozen pack and sets it aside.

"Clifford Danner…" she begins, resting her hands on her knees.

"He killed that girl," Harvey says, closing his eyes. "And Cameron and I proved it."

"The jury _believed_ you proved it," Donna corrects him.

He frowns and studies her. "What are you trying to say?"

She shrugs off her coat bites her lip, tapping her manicured fingers against her knee idly.

"Look, Harvey, I'm not saying that all those guys you've put away have been good people. In fact, none of them probably are but…do the ends justify the means?"

"What's your real problem with Cameron?" He's never thought to ask. Perhaps he never wanted to know the answer.

Donna watches the window where the rain has begun pattering slowly. "I've heard stories about him doing some questionable things in order to secure a successful prosecution."

"It sounds like these are unsubstantiated stories," he reminds her.

"Lisa doesn't just talk shit about people unless it's serious," she says sharply.

"Well, he would never do anything like that," Harvey states. "And I would never let him."

"What if it's going over your head?" she retorts, unwilling to let the topic go.

"Nothing goes over my head," he replies staunchly, crossing his arms across his chest.

Silence descends on them like a cloud. Everything about this situation seems strangely intimate, so removed from the onslaught of the office. Even the drizzle outside seems to be a cocoon shielding them from the bustling streets below.

"Do you like working at the DA's office?"

The pointed question leaves him bemused. He leans his head back against the couch, gaze questioning.

"You never wanted to work here," she clarifies. "You used to make that more than apparent."

"I had to start somewhere. As soon as I'm ready, Jessica-"

"Jessica left me a message last week, asking why you haven't returned her calls regarding the associate position at Pearson Hardman," she interjects, bringing the frozen bag against his bruised head once more.

She wasn't supposed to know that. But she always seems to know _everything_. He shouldn't be surprised.

"I need to clear up my current case load," he says defensively.

"This is what you want," she presses, her voice suddenly quiet. "A year ago you would have jumped at the opportunity. What changed?"

He doesn't know if she intended it, but it's a dangerous question if he thinks about it too long.

The job has been more fulfilling than he ever imagined. The immense amount of practical trial work has been invaluable. Working with Cameron has been a pleasurable learning experience. And working with her…

He pauses. She pulls the bag away and watches him expectantly.

"As an ADA, I feel like I'm making a difference in this city," he answers finally, his voice strangely hoarse.

She nods slowly and exhales, suddenly immensely interested in reading the ingredients list on the bag. After a moment, she passes it to him decidedly and stands, buttoning her coat.

"I should go," she says, seemingly satisfied he is not severely concussed.

He has a sudden urge to stop her. He doesn't move.

"Yeah, you should really get back to work," he calls out casually.

"Me?" She chuckles lightly, the heaviness of the conversation melting away, like it has countless times before.

"I just got slugged in the head by a madman, I think I've earned a partial day," he retorts.

"I've got to say," she says, stopping mid-stride. "I'm surprised it took this long for you to get punched in the face."

His laughter follows her into the hall. Later, he wonders if she will tell Jack that she found herself in Harvey Specter's apartment. He thinks not.

* * *

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

"We're going to be here all night, aren't we?" she asks, though her eyes do not leave the paper she is scanning.

"Won't be the first time," he answers.

She flashes him a small smile before turning her attention back to the files.

Harvey has found himself bringing extra suits to the office and showing at the New York Sports Club on 5th avenue during a particularly grueling caseload. It's been mentally and physically fatiguing, but trial is just two weeks away. Donna has been fulfilling far more second-chair duties than is required of her, but he's hurting for the help.

They sit across from each other in the small research library on the 12th floor. Off in the distance, he can hear a vacuum as the janitor makes his late night rounds. He finds himself glancing up at her more often than not, more out of sheer habit than anything else. She taps her highlighter against the desk lightly and bites her lip, bemused, but seemingly ignorant of his spying. Uncomfortable, she shifts in her chair. Her legs brush against his, and she looks up, mumbling an apology that trails off as she meets his gaze.

Harvey's look is steady, unmoving. Not for the first time, he finds himself toeing the line that has planted itself between them. But then immediately following the possessive attraction comes the guilt, the _what ifs_, the fear.

Here's the guilt.

"You should go home," he says, gesturing to the hallway behind her.

Donna narrows her eyes, understandably suspicious and discards her highlighter before crossing her arms across her chest. He has never offered her a reprieve before.

"Wouldn't want Jack to think I'm a slave driver," he explains.

It is the first acknowledgment Harvey has made of the other man's existence, despite the months between their encounter.

"Why do you care what he thinks?"

"Oh, I don't," he assures her. "But that doesn't mean you should be here instead of with him."

"Well," she sighs, "I can't tell him. Because I haven't seen him in nearly two months. You can though."

"Oh."

That was a surprise. He swears he still hears her hushed conversations as he approaches her cubicle, the hasty exits from the conversation when she knows he's near. It must be someone else, then. It does not surprise him that she has men falling at her feet. Perhaps that relationship was a passing dalliance in a steady stream of passing dalliances.

It's none of his business, he tells himself.

After a few more hours, he prompts her to leave once more. The weariness on her face is evident, and she is a little easier to convince this time.

"We should both leave," she insists, flipping the folder closed in front of him. "You've been like a zombie the last week. It's sad."

Harvey stands, glancing at his watch, which reads a cool 1 am. It's an improvement over the other nights, he supposes.

"Let me drop you off in the Village," he says, hailing a cab on the street below.

Donna knows not to argue, though the roll of her eyes is not lost on him. They climb in the car, hands side by side on the middle seat between them. He swallows hard, glancing at her briefly to see she is intent on watching the city scroll by through the window. The silence is suffocating, and an idle mind always seems to lead into the _what if_ phase.

She's single (or as single as she's ever going to get, it seems). But they work together, and Harvey has always lived by the rule _don't shit where you eat_. He'd inevitably screw something up, or perhaps one of them would lose interest, but all the scenarios end the same. Their working relationship, which is truly the stuff legends are made of, will go down the toilet. And he's realized that his success over his tenure at the DA's is in no small part because of Donna. Donna who is always willing to put up with his bullshit, his ego, his more-than-meager day to day demands.

Donna signals to the driver to stop in front of a five-story walkup.

"See you tomorrow," she says.

Her eyes meet his and he clenches his jaw. "Sleep well," he replies, sincerely.

She hesitates for a moment, but then she climbs out of the taxi, glancing back once as she unlocks the door. He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.

At the offices, he manages to keep Jessica off his back for a time, but really, he sees no end in sight for his service at the DA's office. He is mulling over just that thought when he strolls into the office on a Sunday evening. He swings by Donna's unoccupied desk to pick up some paperwork when he sees the light in Cameron's office, but the man isn't within.

He hears whirring and muttered swearing coming from the copy room around the corner. He pokes his head in and chuckles.

"Donna's the only one who can tame that wild beast…" he trails off as he sees Cameron's face, writ with fear for just an instant before it falls behind of mask of practiced nonchalance.

"What are you doing here so late? Aren't there any more women in New York City you can schmooze?" his voice is tight, unnatural.

Harvey approaches him slowly, patting the papers against his open palm rhythmically. "Apparently not."

Cameron turns back to the machine and yanks out a paper that is jammed in the shredder. He tucks it away into the folder in front of him and snaps around on his heel. "Well, I'll just have to get Donna's help tomorrow, if you can spare her for a few minutes."

Harvey grabs the folder from Cameron's hand as he tries to walk past and lays it open on the small side table. It takes but a minute for the realization to set in.

"He's guilty, Harvey-" he attemps to start, pleading.

"How many times have you done this before?"

Cameron runs a hand through his graying hair, suddenly looking much older than his forty-five years. "This doesn't concern you. Go home."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"You know as well as I do that the defense is going to win if we hand this over. Mackenzie killed that young couple in cold blood," Cameron says, holding his hand up in an attempt to stifle the argument that will undoubtedly ensue.

"How many of _my_ cases?" Harvey says, his voice suddenly low, threatening as he steps towards his boss. His mentor. And after the last two years, his friend.

"You know what I'm doing is right," Cameron whispers. "It would be a travesty of justice if he were to walk."

Harvey laughs humorlessly and plants the folder in the center of Cameron's chest with a bit more force than is necessary. "Practice what you preach."

He doesn't come in on the Monday, or the Tuesday. Donna leaves two voicemails, assuming he is ill, though there is an edge to her voice that makes him know she isn't buying it. Harvey Specter doesn't take sick days.

He calls Jessica to accept the position at Pearson Hardman, and that he will start next Monday. He is ready. He's learned everything he can. It's time to move on.

Those words are like a mantra, running through his head as he packs the box at his desk late that night. Only Greg has stopped by to say goodbye, hoping they can stay in touch. He knows it's a polite sentiment, nothing more.

"Trying to sneak away?"

"I was going to call you."

"I don't believe that," Donna says, coming to lean up against the cubicle wall.

Harvey places the lid on the one box he's packed away and turns towards her. She fingers the light silver pendant around her neck, out of nervousness or idleness, he cannot tell.

"What did he do?" she asks, quiet. She knows.

Harvey glances around him, and satisfied there is no one in earshot, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "You were right," he replies simply.

Her eyebrows knit together as she shakes her head, perplexed. "You're just going to let him walk? As if none of this ever happened?"

"He won't do it again," Harvey assures her, leaning against his now clean desk. "Even though I'm gone, I know he won't."

"That doesn't make everything ok," she retorts, her expression darkening as she glances down the hall towards Cameron's office. Then, she meets Harvey's gaze, suddenly seeming to realize the finality of his words.

They both say nothing for a time, simply watching each other, their postures mimicking each other.

"Well," she says, standing straight and brushing off her tweed skirt. "Goodbye, Harvey."

Donna steps towards him and cautiously puts her arms around his neck and hugs him. He responds by reciprocating, pulling her closer, and the feeling of her warm body against his and the clean scent of her hair is comforting.

He leans back and gauges her expression. Her breath is a little more hurried, her cheeks slightly flushed, and then he realizes. She is waiting, leaving it up to him. This could be it, that line between professionalism and personal affection has been blown apart right in front of them.

"What if I'm not ready to say goodbye?" His hand trails down her arm and he captures her hand in his.. "Come with me."

Her hand goes limp in his as she blinks, surprised. "What?"

"I convinced you of something even more preposterous right in this room over two years ago." The déjà vu is more than apparent.

"Yeah, but you have even less leverage this time. You can't just hire a legal secretary at Pearson Hardman like you own the place."

"No," he agrees. "Give me 'til tomorrow afternoon, and then you can give Cameron your two weeks' notice. I'll talk to Jessica."

Donna narrows his eyes at him. "Harvey…"

"At least think about it until I call you tomorrow," he smirks. "You'll see a hefty raise, increase in benefits and vacation, and you won't have to work with Cameron anymore. Those are three things you always talk about wanting."

"The grass is always greener on the other side," she warns.

"The private sector is _always_ greener, trust me."

The smile tugging at the corner of his lip is almost impossible to restrain. He loves watching her as the gears turn in her head, her expression contemplative. She notices his staring.

"Let's get out of here before someone calls security, seeing as you're a disgruntled ex-employee," she says, waving him off.

That night they talk in hushed voices over martinis, about the past, the present, and the potential future. They are at a fork in the road. If she stays, he doesn't think he'll be ready to never see her again. If she follows him, he won't have to worry about that possibility.

Two weeks later, that future has been cemented at Pearson Hardman.

* * *

**TBC**

Long time between updates, been super busy lately. I can't wait til Harvey meets Louis.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

After an impromptu client meeting has pulled him out of the office all morning, he needs caffeine and he's downright irritable. That is until he rounds the corner of the associate's bullpen to hear the warm, familiar laugh.

"Speak of the devil," says Donna, spying him over the other man's shoulder.

"Dad," Harvey says, appearing as nonchalant as possible, but he immediately feels the weight of work lifting off his shoulders.

His father turns and after a quick glance in around the bustling office. "Harvey."

Harvey motions for him to come to an empty conference room for some semblance of privacy. Donna, as expected, is hot on their heels.

"You weren't supposed to get in until tomorrow."

"I figured we could hit the batting cages at Chelsea Piers tonight, if you're not afraid of getting schooled by an old man," he replies with a shrug.

Harvey narrows his eyes at Donna, who is excitedly glancing between them.

"Gord was just telling me about your little league days," Donna says, as if she needs to explain herself.

"Gord," Harvey parrots, his voice flat.

She nods brightly. "I was just dropping off the Floyd depositions when lo and behold, there he was, waiting at your desk."

"And good thing too," Gordon interjects, running a hand through his gray head of hair. "I was bored out of my mind 'til this lovely lady decided to turn up. She's been keeping me company for nearly an hour." His father's eyes twinkle as he meets Donna's gaze and she returns his smile with equal fervor.

This could be dangerous.

"You mean she hasn't been working for nearly an hour."

"Get that stick out of your ass, Harvey," his father chastises before shooting a wink at Donna.

She tries, but fails miserably, at holding back a smile. "Lord knows I tell him that every single day."

"Donna, I need those filings by 5 pm today."

She shoots him a dark look that tells him this isn't over, but she places a hand on his father's forearm affably. "It was very nice to meet you."

They watch Donna's retreating form through the glass of the meeting room, and Harvey has to tear his eyes away from the subtle swaying of her hips.

His father arches a brow suggestively. "Jesus, how do you get anything done with _that_ strutting around you every day."

"I'm not you," Harvey replies back, a little too quickly.

The smile on his father's face wavers, but he gives Harvey a slap on the back anyway. His mother is a touchy subject, and Gordon knows Harvey's feelings towards her are less than amiable. His father's unwavering support, no, love, for this woman makes him sick to his stomach.

"She asks about you all the time, Harvey. You can't keep doing this."

Harvey closes his eyes and exhales. After a moment, he pats his father on the back lightly. "I'm going to take the rest of the day, how about we get out of here now?"

"See you there," Gordon sighs, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets and trudging out.

Harvey meets Donna at her desk, but she turns in her chair when she hears him approaching. "l already cleared your schedule, I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight?" he replies, bemused.

"Oh," she chuckles sheepishly. "Gord sort of invited me to his gig at the Blue Note."

Harvey blinks.

Donna gives him a smirk which he finds himself mirroring. "Well I'm sure he was getting around to telling you."

"Alright, I'll agree on one condition." Harvey leans in close and whispers conspiratorially. "Gord? Never again."

"You're not in a position to negotiate," she murmurs back as she rolls her chair away from him, which is a sharp reminder that they are in the middle of a crowded office and people always talk.

After _almost_ getting schooled by his father at the batting cages, they grab a quick dinner at Gordon's favorite New York deli. They talk about Harvey's work, Gordon's music, how terribly the Yankees have been doing in the playoffs and really anything but Harvey's mother. He tries to work her into the conversation a few times, but Harvey sidesteps all the questions, the comments with practiced ease. There's a reason he's one of the highest paid attorneys in New York City.

"You shouldn't let your feelings about her hold you back," Gordon finally says, eyeing the leftovers of his pastrami sandwich, if only to avoid eye contact with his son. "I mean…personally."

Harvey laughs at this uncharacteristic and clumsy attempt to broach the topic of his personal life. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just want you to be happy, Harvey, and if this is doing that for you, that's great. But I just want you to know…your career isn't everything. It can make for a pretty lonely life," he finishes slowly, quietly.

Silence descends upon them. Harvey pushes his pickle aside on the plate with distaste, and idly thinks that Donna would have already snagged it, were she here.

"I am happy," he says finally as he stands. "Shall we?"

The finality of that conversation is abundantly clear, so Gordon sighs as he follows suit.

Later that night in front the Blue Note, Harvey waits for Donna to arrive while Gordon warms up backstage. His mind is annoyingly replaying the conversation with his father over in his head and he watches a woman leaning against the brick of the building. She catches his eye and brings the cigarette down from her lips and offers it to him with a coy smile.

He hesitates for a moment, then accepts it. He notices the end is stained with lipstick as he takes a long drag and sighs as the smoke escapes his mouth. He had a nasty habit during undergrad, which he knows he will never fall back into, but the taste of the tobacco on his tongue is a familiar comfort that he will not forgo just this moment.

Harvey tries to pass the cigarette back to his companion but she shakes her head. "You look like you need it."

"Thanks."

"And if you need more after the show, I'll be here," she smiles and turns to return to the club.

He gives his thanks and ponders her proposition. He lets the cigarette sit between his teeth as he checks his phone for messages. And just like that (the whiff of perfume being his only warning) the cigarette is snatched from his mouth. Donna drops it to the asphalt at quashes it under her heel, wrinkling her nose with distaste.

"That's disgusting."

"Quick to judge, are we?"

"You knew I'd catch you here," she points out. "And you knew I'd disapprove."

Harvey shrugs and takes her in, all Friday-night-out, a dark blue pleated dress that sets off the fire in her hair. He decides to keep up with this theme of _consequences be damned_ he's got going today. "Disapproval looks good on you."

For a moment she is taken aback by his open flirtation, but she recovers quickly. "You forget, _everything_ looks good on me."

He chuckles and offers his arm, which she accepts willingly, but she deliberately leaves space between them. It seems one of them must always play the reluctant partner in this never ending dance, but he is used to it now. This inconsistency has strangely become the only consistency in their relationship, so it does not faze him.

They sit in the back corner, side-by-side so that they can watch the stage easily. Harvey orders a bottle of light Reisling to keep them company for the night.

"Have I been looking forward to seeing _you_ this entire week," she says to the glass.

"I am wounded," he interjects lightly as he hands it to her.

"You should be, you're the hardass that needed those Harrelson filings by Tuesday."

The wine is flowing as well as the conversation when the double bass player lugs his instrument on stage. Shortly after come the pianist and the drummer and Gordon Specter. Donna lets out a jeering wolf whistle, and Harvey's father waves at her.

"Oh, Gord, you old dog," Harvey mutters, though loud enough for Donna to hear.

The first piece is quick paced bebop, colored with undertones of improvisation by all the performers. The bass player, Dougie Mills, introduces himself to the crowd to much applause, as he is the headliner of the show. Then comes his father, the pianist and the drummer.

The pieces are peppered with intermissions of friendly banter amongst the musicians, who are clearly old friends. The atmosphere is warm and friendly and Harvey wonders know why he doesn't come here more often.

"He reminds me of you, in some ways," Donna whispers over her drink they take a quick break during their long set. "It's like looking at you through frosted glass. What you might have been, if things were a little different..."

Harvey cocks his head, questioning.

"Nevermind," she waves him off and turns her attention back to the stage.

He wonders why she never asks about his mother. Then, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, he knows that even though he hasn't told her, she's Donna and she can read him like a book. She _knows_ they're practically estranged, and does not want to broach the subject.

Before the last song, there's one more interlude.

During his father's turn, there's obligatory thanks, and then, to Harvey's surprise and embarrassment, "My son Harvey is in the crowd tonight."

Dougie interjects in deep baritone. "Forget Harvey, Gordon, look at that lady with him." Then comes a low, well-practiced whistle.

The crowd laughs easily at the joke as the pianist takes his turn at the mic. Harvey stiffens in his seat and turns to Donna to see her beaming; never has he met a woman more comfortable in the spotlight. She arches an eyebrow suggestively at him.

"What's the matter," she asks, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "I'd ask if a cat got your tongue, but we all know that's impossible."

Harvey opens his mouth to retort when his father hops off the stage and joins them.

"Well?"

"It was excellent," Donna says sincerely. "Thank you for inviting me, I loved the closing number."

"I knew you would," Gordon laughs.

His eyes flit between the two of them, and Donna takes the silence as her queue to break it. "How about we get a round of drinks?"

And they do. This time, when they talk about Harvey's childhood, he does not resist. In fact, he regales Donna with a story of his own, when Gordon caught him with his high school girlfriend in the back of their old sedan when he was 16. She throws her head back and laughs with such enthusiasm that he thinks he won't regret it when she uses this information as leverage to blackmail him.

"I should get going," she says some time later. She stands and pats her skirt down, and before he can protest, she holds up her hand. "It's barely midnight, Harvey, a cab will be fine. I'll see you on Monday."

Gordon stands they embrace quickly. He whispers something in her ear, but Harvey doesn't catch it.

"What did you tell her?"

"None of your business," his father shoots back.

When the weekend comes to a close, Gordon leaves to go back upstate, and the reprieve from his working life is suddenly over, leaving him with a strange sense of melancholy he never though he would feel. But as soon as the feeling comes, it is gone, and he is all business once more.

Some months later, he and Donna go to that bar where they first met, if only to reminisce. He tells her about his mother, and he finds out her father has been fighting a battle with cancer for the better half of a decade. He was a heavy smoker before she was born, she explains to him quietly. Harvey never touches a cigarette again.

* * *

**TBC  
**

**No beta, as usual. All typos/silly grammar mistakes are my fault.**


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